I hate Thika!
The first time I went to Thika was less than two years ago when Mfa passed on. I have since associated Thika with death and I only go there if it’s absolutely necessary.
Like two Fridays ago when we had some work to do at Thika Technical.
There are few good things about Thika, at least to me. I don’t club so if you worship Thika clubs like some of my friends do, sorry, that’s boring. Neither am I good friends with the sun, and Thika has a lot of it. I think the only good thing about Thika is pork.
And after work that day, we walked to the Pork street of Thika. They have a whole street dedicated to pork restaurants. That might have been the biggest mistake we made that day – eating pork on a Friday like true kaffirs.
Why do I say this? Because of what happened shortly after enjoying lustful amounts of the dirty animal.
It was around 8:00 pm, thereabouts. Still strolling around Thika with toothpicks in our mouths like Kikuyu sponsors, we came across a street that had women lined. All sizes of women. The slender ones who looked like they were malnourished. The huge ones who look like a certain Njoki who works in a Limuru pub. And the plain janes who haven’t chosen a side. (Btw, I don’t describe women by their body shape unless they wrong me) Some in small dresses, others wearing only handkerchiefs around their crotches and chests, others in plain jeans and tops. I swear I saw one in a kitenge, like a church woman. Clearly, this was no church, these were ladies of the night. And this, right here, was their open market.
The first few in line; I think those were the freshest in the market (oops!), just looked at us pass. We did not look like we could pay, I guess. The next batch showed us some interest, and we earned some cat calls (is that how you girls feel when men whistle at you?).
The third batch was made up of the “beatest of them all” (or what would you call kuchapa?). These ones were blatant. The veranda was thin, so we walked in a line, Ben and Dan ahead of me. I saw two women block their path and start hugging them, you know like they knew them. I burst out in laughter. Women were mishandling two grown men! But men being men, they were playing that game – you know, asking them the price of certain elements like “touching” “room” “things I won’t say.” I was just laughing at them, with a tinge of embarrassment.
Not for long. Remember Wrestling? When a wrestler would pin another in a corner in the ring and work on them? That’s what happened to me next. Only this time I was Mysterio and the other wrestler was Rikishi.
And, this time, it was not a soft ring… I was pinned to the wall! By Rikishi’s sister!
Sexiest, literally, woman in Thika?
I was defenseless, as she started daggering and whining and doing what Jamaican riddim dancers do.
She kept telling me in Gikuyu:
Tuthii kashoti kamwe mundu. (Something to do with shots)
Of course, I was squirming like a kid refusing his medicine. I tried to shove her but she couldn’t move an inch. She was heavy. You can’t just move Rikish.
I was suffocating. she had a whiff of a stink. Probably people’s shotis.
“Mani, andu arume ni manjui guku Thika. Service yakwa ni best!” (Man, Thika men know me. I have the best service).
I was on the verge of puking now. Her three stomachs were bumping at me. She moved her hand to my crotch like she wanted to touch me down there and that’s when I swerved and hit her chest with my head, running away; I was almost run over by a car.
They laughed, their laughter sounding like the devil enjoying a scene in hell.
“Wewe ukajua vile mimi ulilisha wanaume hii Thika haungehepa hivyo kama mtoto.” (If you knew how I make men cry/moan in this town you wouldn’t have run like a baby.)
I didn’t talk back. I just stood away as she called out to me and waited for Ben and Dan, literally shaking. Not with arousal… that woman would have made m impotent. I am still scarred.
So, we walked off discussing our ordeal. Turned out they also had had their share of tough loving – those Thika women are too aggressive. Can easily rape you.
Or, wait! They can steal from you. I paused, felt my pocket – my money was still in the back pocket. I am a wise guy, no one can steal from me. Or not.
Checking again, there was only a 50 bob note in my pocket! She has expertly separated the money and left a ka-50!
The prostitute had mugged me! Don’t tell me that’s pick-pocketing. That’s robbery with violence.
This is yet another reason to hate that damned Thika and I probably should start a Thika Initiation series.
Main Pic: Business Insider